


Not So Much a Flavor as a Color: Blue

by darthhellokitty



Series: Flavors of the Month [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Narcissism, Playful Sex, Promiscuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthhellokitty/pseuds/darthhellokitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Garu, Spare Prince of the House of Garu, plays the field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Much a Flavor as a Color: Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of a series of stories about Blaine Garu, Spare Prince of Eab Nanoorn, and Kourt Crowe, Jedi shapeshifter. They take place in the Star Wars universe, several hundred years before Star Wars: The Phantom Menace.
> 
> The character of Kourt Crowe was created by Hiper Bunny; used by permission.

The first rays of the sun, tinged with blue, were piercing the horizon as Bail Blaine Garu, Spare Prince of Eab Nanoorn, slipped into his room. At this point in his life, it was less of a problem to be away for four days than to be caught returning, so he kept the seaside door to his rooms well-oiled and the servants well-bribed. What his mother did not know would not hurt her, and it would certainly make his life easier. Thank all the little gods she didn't read the holotabs.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose a hail of glitter. He needed to spend some time on his hair. Tomorrow. Right now, undress and wind down and let sleep carry away the exhaustion and the ringing in his ears.

Blaine toed off his shoes, little blue boots with heels; they'd been a lot more comfortable when he'd left the house. Socks. Somewhere between Barricades and the first party after the show, he'd lost his socks.

He pulled his shirt off over his head. More times than he could remember, in the last few days: hands up and a tug and a faceful of sky-blue silk, and then someone or other looking really pleased. This time, himself, reflected in the slightly clouded full-length mirror that had been in these rooms since the rooms had been there: himself, pleased, sleepy, with a little of yesterday's eyeliner. That had always been a good look for him.

A few buttons and his pants, very deep blue, very soft, very much in need of repair or replacement, fell to the floor. He stepped out of them, and knelt down to recall the past few days.

Sasha. Sasha's beautiful, strong, slender hands. Two silver rings, very smooth, each a very distinct sensation in his mouth as Sasha fed him sweet fruit pastries with a kind of gentle insistence.

He sucked his finger, recalling the sweetness, and traced a tiny circle around each of his nipples. Jorge had been so amazed by that. It was hard to believe anyone on Eab Nanoorn hadn't at least heard about the extra one at this point, but fun to see the look on Jorge's face. Even more fun to feel Jorge's tongue, and then very carefully his teeth, on each nipple in turn. They were rather tender now, pinker than usual: it was hard to keep track of exactly who had nibbled them, and when and where.

He reached down. Amazing that his cock, pink and curved, was still interested after the last few days, but then it nearly always was, especially for the hands that knew it best. He took a deep breath and stroked, closing his eyes for a moment. Very good, solid in his hand. He kept stroking, remembering.

Dahlia, from way up north where they gave the boys flower names. Tall and pale and incredibly tight, against the wall behind the club, biting his hand to keep quiet while Blaine fucked him because his friends would never have let him hear the end of it. As if everyone hadn't known the moment he walked back in, blushing, with his red hair falling down from what had been a neat coil on top of his head. Blaine had silenced his friends by convincing one of them to join him outside next and making him scream.

The two dark men at the show, back in the corner, who'd looked at absolutely nothing but each other through the whole thing. Strobe lights, explosions, Blaine dancing on the table: they just kept looking at each other. It made Blaine want to follow them wherever they went afterwards, to watch.

He sucked his finger, slicking it, and slid it up inside himself. A flare of soreness reminded him that he had played quite a lot of "How Many" over the last few days; played and lost, which was the way he liked it. That was what had happened to those socks. His good blue socks. Perrin won them; he had a clear memory of her striding out of the back room, laughing, swinging them over her head: the only clothes of his that could possibly have fit her. The soreness felt sort of good, actually; he added a second finger, breathed a little faster, and kept stroking.

Those twins, Sun and Moon they called themselves. Skies only knew where they came from. Even if they'd been able to keep from laughing when they'd introduced themselves he'd have known nobody's actually named Sun and Moon. He'd been disinclined to mention it, though, when he was on his knees with one (hard to say which, but definitely the one who curved slightly to the left) in his mouth, the other in his ass, apparently trying to meet in the middle. They were very blond and smelled like peppermint and curled up together like puzzle pieces afterward, on top of a heap of blue pillows at Nalla's house. Blaine had rested a few moments, then got up and left them both asleep, dreaming their identical dreams.

Later, Jules, the dark-eyed boy who could both sing and cook: nothing sexual, not from him, but the warmest hug. He'd asked Blaine if he was ever going to narrow things down to one person, and Blaine had laughed and pointed out how unfair that would be to everyone else, how selfish. He'd told Jules his blond friend had gone outside to see the band play, and fondly watched him walk away. True love, if the blond ever figured it out.

True love. He looked up at the mirror and saw himself, flushed, sweating, panting, bluest eyes, and went right over the edge.

The small blue towel, then, so soft, and a tall glass of water from the cooler by the bed; going to bed thirsty was never a good idea, and the water felt so good going down, so cold. Gods, and so many things to do in the next few days: his brother's wedding, and if he had to be there, he might as well look good, rested, fresh. Planning the party, and picking up some kind of bodyguard from the spaceport: someone to follow him around and tell his mother what he was up to, probably, but that was just too much to hold in his head just now. He dropped into bed, asleep almost as soon as the coolness of the pale blue sheets registered against his skin, asleep and dreaming of nothing at all.


End file.
